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Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux, Wasps

Introduction

Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux

Bill Engleson

www.engleson.ca

For a few years, I kept a diary of my inauguration into the Denman Community. This column, recently renamed Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux, will

extract a few of my observations from a dozen or more years ago and share them. Hopefully, they will have some modern times currency.

Wasps

August 24, 2005

Wasps. I don’t really want to comment on them this year, but they demand vindication. Damn, they are ferocious this year. Every time I step outside, I fear I will be swarmed by the ill-tempered little buggers.

For example, most days I do a bit of parched plant watering. Of late, I know that these fierce, winged stingers will seek me out and intend me personal harm. Now it may be that inevitably I present a larger than usual target but that doesn’t account for their nasty temperament. They are full of wasp rage; trapped in their efficient albeit inadequate bodies, sensing perhaps a limited life span, intuiting that I own a couple of wasp-swatters and have planted at least three wasp traps of varying efficacy around the property. Sensing all this, they attack with bitter bug abandon.

The young red-haired kid has been visiting for the past couple of days. He was here last year in August as well. As he did then, he has donned his wasp-gladiator duds (shorts and swatter) and met them on the deck field of honor. The red-haired kid is a veritable killing machine. He seems to find excruciating pleasure in terminating wasps.

I do not discourage him. I am complicit in his slaughter, but I choose to ignore the moral issues. Once stung; twice shy; thrice deadly.

I am ethically and environmentally ambivalent. I wish it were not so. Evidence of my complicity is everywhere, piles of dead and dying wasps are strewn about the property. Last year I actually dug mass graves for them but this year I simply compost their remains.

I am unclear whether this gesture has raised me to a higher moral plane.

I fear that this whole affair may come back to haunt me, but I expect I will not stop until some greater force intervenes.

The red-haired kid will leave tomorrow. I will continue to swat occasionally but never with the skill, the intensity of this young red-headed killing machine.

 

Gwynne Dyer, The Industrialization of Space

5 January 2022

The Industrialisation of Space

By Gwynne Dyer

It will be a bumper year for big space launches to the Moon, Mars, and asteroids, including many manned flights, but the real shocker is the number of satellites and spaceships being launched by private companies. 

Never mind Elon Musk’s twelve-thousand-small-satellite Starlink programme, which is already becoming a traffic hazard after only 1,892 satellites have been launched, sixty at a time. (The Chinese have lodged a complaint.) There are 39 other companies in eleven different countries whose vehicles are scheduled to make their maiden flights this year.

There’s ‘Blue Whale 1’ from Perigee Aerospace in South Korea, ‘Agnibaan’ from AgniKul Cosmos in India, and ‘RFA One’ from Rocket Factory Augsburg in Germany. Not to mention ‘Hyperbola-2’ from i-Space in China, ‘Eris’ from Gilmour Space Technologies in Australia, and ‘Terran 1’from Relativity Space in the United States. 

It’s like 1910, when there were hundreds of start-up car manufacturers in the world. Space transport is becoming an industrial-scale operation now like road transport was then, and everybody with an alternative approach that might fly is piling in.

For example, ‘Blue Whale 1’ is a two-stage, two-tonne rocket that can put a 50-kg. satellite into a 500-km.-high Sun-synchronous orbit (useful for imaging, weather and spy satellites). Perigee plans to launch up to forty Blue Whale 1 rockets a year from an Australian site at $2 million each.

Agnibaan’s special feature is that its rocket engine is 3D-printed at the company’s site in Madras. (Everybody has a special feature.) It can deliver a 100-kg. payload to a 700 km. orbit, and the launches will be made from Alaska Aerospace Corp’s Kodiak Island facility since India still has limited space at its own commercial launch sites. And on, and on…

The heavy-lift rockets are proliferating too. Europe’s Ariane 6 vehicle test-flies from Kourou spaceport for the first time this year. It comes in two versions: the larger can carry 21 tonnes into low Earth orbit (LEO). Japan’s new H-3, which launches from Tanegashima this year, is about the same size but can deliver six tonnes into a lunar transfer orbit.

But the four really heavy lifters are all American, and all are attempting first flights this year. Blue Origin’ is designed to deliver 45 tonnes to LEO, but only the first stage is reusable. ‘Vulcan-Centaur’, mostly for military use, lifts 27 tonnes into LEO and 12 tonnes to a lunar transfer orbit. The upper stage is the latest iteration of a seven-decades-old design.

Space Launch System (SLS), descended from the rocket that carried the Space Shuttle into orbit, is NASA’s own new heavy lifter. It will ultimately be able to deliver 95 tonnes to LEO and 27 tonnes to a lunar transfer orbit, and is the space agency’s preferred vehicle to flights to the Moon and Mars, but once again we’re dealing with an ‘expendable’ rocket. An expensive way to travel.

The star of the show, without a doubt, is Elon Musk’s Starship, whose first flight is still tentatively scheduled for this month.

It may well crash and burn – most of his maiden flights do – but that’s the way he works, and he has planned at least a dozen more launches this year. If there are bugs in the newly celebrated marriage of the super-heavy launch vehicle and the passenger- and cargo-carrying Starship proper, he’ll weed them out in the end.

This is a real spaceship: room for a hundred people or a thousand cubic metres of cargo space. Both parts are reusable, and the Starship can refuel in orbit. It will land on the Moon, and eventually on Mars. It will be, as Musk said, “a generalized transport mechanism for the greater solar system.”

All of these advances will be overshadowed by the various space spectaculars coming up this year: the unfolding of the James Webb telescope, NASA’s ‘Artemis ‘ mission orbiting the Moon,  the joint Russian- European ExoMars mission, Indian, Russian, Japanese and South Korean soft landings on the Moon.

But the real news is that after marking time for fifty years, we are actually getting off the planet at last. Cargo to orbit is now affordable (if you’re rich or corporate), and both Earth orbit and the surface of the Moon will begin to accumulate a human population. A thousand people in fifteen years?

Mars will take a little longer, probably, but we’re on our way

Jay Douglas Miller Magoon

Jay Douglas Miller Magoon was born in Tulsa, OK on September 25, 1962 and passed
away at the age of 59 in Santa Cruz, CA on January 12, 2022.

He is survived by his father, Bruce Magoon; his two sisters, Debbie Brown and Sharna Bovasso and brother-in-law Steve; his nieces, Ashley, Katilyn, and Ali; and his nephew,
Blake. Doug was one of the kindest, most gentle souls to walk the planet. To know him was to love him. His warmth and generosity were qualities many of us can only aspire to.
He was good natured, thoughtful, and loved to laugh. He would do anything to help others, which was evident in the many acts of kindness he performed for strangers and loved ones alike. Doug always remembered everyone’s birthday with his remarkable memory, and called to check in when he was thinking about someone. He loved spending time with people in most any capacity (and most often in his trademark tie dye shirts and cargo shorts), but especially over a good meal, at a concert, or while watching a football game.

Life in all its forms seemed to blossom in his presence, whether it was the children and animals who loved to play with him or the plants he cultivated with his landscaping business. He was also a savvy investor, often years ahead of trends.

Doug had friends and loved ones in many places he considered to be home. Doug was raised in Tulsa and returned often to visit his family and friends. He fell in love with California after attending College of the Redwoods, and established his home in Santa Cruz soon thereafter. He also came to find the beautiful and charming Denman Island in British Columbia as a second home, where he spent several months each year.

Doug never lost sight of the most important things in life: caring for others and his relationships with friends and family. Despite any hardships he endured, Doug retained his optimism, hope, and faith in humanity. May his memory be a blessing to the many people who loved him, and may we all endeavor to carry that spark of joy in ourselves that came so naturally to Doug.

In lieu of flowers, memorial donations are being accepted at The Second Harvest food bank in Santa Cruz, https://www.thefoodbank.org/ or Zarrow Pointe Retirement Center in Tulsa, https://zarrowpointe.org/ – the Doug Magoon Fund.

Grumpisms

Imagine that!

Imagine that!

by Thomas Provençal 

A microscopic virus

has taken on the size 

of a macroscopic monster:

ideas we synthesize. 

A very small minority 

of people getting sick 

has conjured a pandemic 

in a huge brainwashing trick. 

Who is set to benefit

by rules that separate?

Now we’re forced to alter 

how we communicate. 

Now 99% of us 

are living under threat 

of royal retribution 

should the virus we neglect.  

 

Living Well: Fly Like an Eagle

Living Well: Fly Like an Eagle

by Verna Isbister

As I was looking out our front window at the roiling ocean, horizontal snow and wind, I wondered to myself, “How am I going to make it through the winter months ahead?” “How can I find hope in the on-going storms of climate, covid and inner disquietude?”

It was a dismal day but then I saw an eagle flying into view. It battled the blustering winds. Its soaring, outstretched wings were being buffeted by the Qualicum gale and I thought how often nature speaks into my wonderings. It occurred to me that eagles fly the best when the air currents and updrafts allow them to spread their wings and soar. It’s in the storms that they can really fly and seem to enjoy what they were created to be. They are unflappable.

Eagles can flap their wings but according to Jon M. Gierrard and Gary Bortolotti, “Eagles are capable of sustained flapping flight but they usually spend little time doing it.” Soaring uses the least amount of energy.

These days, it seems that many of us are spending time flapping our wings. When a person is described as flappable they look stressed, confused, worried and nervous. I’d much prefer to soar through the winds of winter.

So can I gain some wisdom from watching the eagles? The poet Mary Oliver poses the same kind of question in her poem, The Vulture’s Wings:

I keep

looking I

keep wondering

standing so

far below

these high

floating birds

could this

as most

things do

be offering

something for

us to

think about

seriously?

An ancient Jewish writer used the metaphor of an eagle to inspire, “They shall rise up on wings of eagles” to describe a people who are weary, fainting and tired of waiting.

In this New Year before us, I invite you to find inspiration in something that speaks to you in nature. Then like the eagle may you lift off and soar above your worries and fears.

 

Nuclear Power: The Missing Piece of the Puzzle

 January 2022

Nuclear Power: The Missing Piece of the Puzzle

By Gwynne Dyer

At the stroke of midnight last Friday, half of Germany’s remaining nuclear power stations closed down. The remaining three plants (of an original seventeen) will shut down on 31 December of this year, and Germans will no longer have to live with the fear of a nuclear (power) holocaust.

What’s more, all the lost energy from the nuclear plants will be “compensated for by the expansion of renewable energies,” promised Claudia Kemfert, an energy expert at the German Institute for Economic Research. An elegant solution, but there is a catch.

Most of the wind and solar power that Germany is building will go to replace its nuclear power plants, not to eliminate the coal and gas that it is still burning in huge amounts to generate electricity. So Germany will go on burning coal until 2038 (France is out now, the UK by 2024), and it also imports big volumes of gas from Russia (at great geopolitical cost).

Fossil fuels produce carbon dioxide; nuclear power doesn’t. By shutting down nuclear power instead of coal and gas, Germany has dumped an extra 350 megatonnes (Mt) of CO2 into the air in the past decade – plus maybe another 350 Mt yet to come before they have built enough wind and solar power to replace the fossil fuels they should have dumped first.

There’s also an estimated extra 1,100 Germans a year dying from breathing in the fossil fuel pollution in their country, but they’re dying in a good cause: all their nervous fellow-citizens will sleep better at night.

Just one day ahead of Germany, Belgium announced on 30 December that it will shut all of the country’s nuclear power plants by 2025. It too promises to replace the lost electricity with power from renewable sources eventually, but it will just burn more coal and gas in the meantime.

How long is ‘meantime’? Nobody knows, but it’s clearly a price that Belgians are willing to pay. 

And when the European Commission proposed a new law last weekend that recognises nuclear power as ‘green’ (provided that the plants have strict plans for the disposal of nuclear waste), there was an outcry all across the European Union. German Environment Minister Steffi Lemke condemned the proposal as simply “wrong.”

This is the triumph of fear over common sense. To advocate abandoning nuclear power when the great threat is carbon dioxide emissions (and we are losing the race to decarbonise) is folly.

There are currently 441 commercial nuclear reactors in the world, supplying about 10% of the world’s electricity. There could have been three or four times as much nuclear power by now if the Green movement had not exploited a couple of accidents in the 1970s and 80s to cripple it.

There is reason to suspect that the original Green hostility to nuclear power was encouraged and subsidised by the US fossil fuel industry, which has always been quick to spot emerging potential rivals and sabotage them. But the hostility is self-sustaining now, fed by fantasy statistics and deliberate scare-mongering.

There have actually been just three major accidents in some sixty years of operation by hundreds of nuclear power plants, only one of which caused human casualties: Chernobyl in 1986, where 28 plant workers were killed and 15 other people subsequently died of thyroid cancer.

But nobody at all died at the Fukushima Daiichi plant in 2011 (although 20,000 died as a result of the magnitude 9.0 sub-sea quake and the tsunami that devastated the city). Many more people die from coal pollution each and every day than have died from nuclear power accidents in the entire past half-century.

Yet a vocal minority of Europeans are terrified of the technology, and they are so well organised that most European countries have banned nuclear power or are shutting it down now. (France and the UK are the great exceptions.) What can explain this strange behaviour on the continent that was once home to the Enlightenment?

I don’t know, but I once noticed that Europe’s anti-nuclear fervour plots nicely onto the witch-hunts of the 15th to 18th centuries. Of the 40,000 to 60,000 alleged witches hanged or burned, German-speaking Europe alone accounted for almost half, and it’s the heartland of anti-nuclear sentiment today.

Never mind. We can forgive the Europeans for their anti-nuclear foolishness, because in most other respects they lead the world in cutting emissions. And outside Europe, the only noteworthy countries that ban nuclear power are Australia, New Zealand, Taiwan and the Philippines.

There are currently new 52 nuclear reactors under construction, most of them in Asia. A new generation of compact modular reactors that  can be assembled in factories and cannot melt down will be on the market in less than five years. The missing piece of the post-fossil-fuel puzzle has been found – and the Europeans can sleep in peace.

Phoenix Riting! – January 6th, 2022

Here we are irrevocably committed to another year, 2022, which shoved its way in the door in a fury of storm and power outages (much like last year, if memory serves). What are the odds it will be better than the previous two stinkers? To be fair, the past couple of years haven’t been all bad. We have had our triumphs, epiphanies and achievements, but as far as community goes, 2020 and 2021 have been a struggle for most of us. Gone are the large Hall events, dances and art openings where we freely mingled, unmasked and light of heart. We were innocents, only two years ago. New Year’s Eve 2020 was our last big Hall party, with a Flapper theme from last century. We welcomed the bright new decade with laughter, optimism and grace.

 

This decade so far resembles the Great Depression more than the Roaring 20s, sadly. We have grown accustomed to watching for danger, wary of strangers with death on their breath. Even those few who take the situation lightly are lonely, surrounded by frightened others. We have withdrawn into our bubbles, those lucky enough to have them. It’s hard on the singletons who enjoyed introverted lives before the pandemic, when one could gain an occasional necessary social infusion then withdraw again into private space. Humans need society: it’s a need, not a want. We all require physical contact and to see others’ facial expressions. These times are very hard on mental health.

 

Some of us find occasional spaces to have this cup filled, now and then. I was fortunate to be invited to a friend’s at the last minute for New Year’s Eve. For such a small group (fewer than 10), we did the socializing work of 50–dancing, deep talk, fresh connections found and old friendships renewed. I’d nearly forgotten what fun is like! I floated home late, in a cloud of euphoria and wine. Thank you (you know who you are), I needed that more than I knew.

 

We must make space for all needs, not just the need for safety. A good life includes an element of risk taking and prioritizing of needs. I trust this community and this world to return to center to live with our feet on the ground, and I pray it won’t take falling from a height to land us there. Humans have for some reason evolved this odd delusion that we are not part of a living world with limits and laws (like gravity, like balance). We have long ago stopped taking the physical world seriously, acting like the owners of the world. Does the planet belong to us, or do we belong to it? I fear a comeuppance on the horizon for the hubris of humanity. Or worse–that we continue on as we are–ending with a technological dystopia where humans are all that is left, for however long that might last (surely not long).

 

Here on our special island, we have always lived closer to the ground than most, but thanks to the Internet, we too can live in the cloud at least part of the time. Thank goodness for the wild world around us, which reminds us every day that we are embedded within a living matrix that feeds us and also feeds upon us. Viruses are a part of nature. It’s good to strive to live. But to strive to ensure that no human ever dies, no matter the cost to all other forms of life–strikes me as crazy. I know only one thing: this too shall pass.

 

Obesity

Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux – Memory, Male Menopause, and such

Introduction

Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux

Bill Engleson

www.engleson.ca

For a few years, I kept a diary of my inauguration into the Denman Community. This column, recently renamed Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux, will

extract a few of my observations from a dozen or so years ago and share them. Hopefully, they will have some modern times currency.

Memory, Male Menopause, and such

February 9, 2005

Less then two hours ago, I get a call from the Dental Bus wondering if I am going to keep my appointment this morning. I was already forty minutes late. I am shattered. I never forget appointments. When I finally get there, I blather on about this being the end of my greatest attribute as a human being, as the worker I once was. I was punctual. I was always on time. And now, with the sluggish air of the island, the lack of measurable routine, the plodding inevitability of the aging process, I have transformed into a duffer who forgets. I want to say doofus rather than duffer, but I just cannot guarantee the spelling.

To make matters worse, as I drive home from the dental appointment, which was fine, a simple cleaning, but thank you for asking, the CBC is talking about male menopause.

MALE BLOODY MENOPAUSE!!!!! The coincidence should make you think.

It certainly does me. And then, because there always should be a kicker, there is one. At least I think there is. The kicker in this instance is that a certain Kathy McClellan from Waterloo has sent a note to the CBC commenting on this whole male menopause issue. I may know her and had meant to e-mail her two years ago. About what, I can’t recall. As I arrive home, I begin to doubt if there is any synchronicity. There must be a few dozen Kathy McClellan’s in Waterloo.

Of course, while I don’t remember what I had been communicating with my Kathy McClellan about, I know for certain that it was not about male menopause. It is seriously not a subject about which I have ever cared to have a discussion.

At least not until today.